I press Bruiser’s latest polygonal creation—the kid is fascinated with angles, I’ll give him that—to the glass and am about to make my cheery intro, going on and on about how Bruiser’s been growing like a weed again. At two and a half years old, it’s all true, but my eye catches on the yellowing bruise on Dad’s eye.
Bruiser’s drawing drops from my hands as my fingers press to the glass. “Dad, are you okay? What happened?”
His head ducks, big fist trying to cover the offending eye as he shakes his head. “Aw nothing. Don’t worry your pretty little head about it, darlin’. You were sayin’ about Bruiser? Something about him picking weeds?”
“No, he’s growing like a weed. And Dad, it’s not nothing if you’ve been getting into fights again! How’s that going to look at your next parole hearing?” I can’t help tossing my hands up in frustration. We’ve been working on this for months, and it’s all based on good behavior. And now he goes and gets into a fight!
“I’m sorry kid, I know you were hoping that’s how it would go, but there was no real chance with that, anyway. Just like the one before. And the one before that.”
“Don’t say that! There’s still hope!”
I press my palm to the glass.
But Silas just shrugs, his body language real closed off. “I gotta start living like this is reality now. I know how to survive this place, but you gotta play by its rules. Totally different set than the world out there’s got. There’s a hierarchy system in here and they’re over me playing the field. I managed to avoid those white supremacist motherfuckers, but I had to make some other compromises so I don’t become roadkill myself.”
Every word out of his mouth makes my stomach sink a little further.
He did this for me.
He’s enduring this so I never have to learn the “different set of rules” behind the concrete walls of a correctional facility.
“So you pledged yourself to someone, and it got you all those bruises? I thought you were walking a little stiffer as you sat down.”
He just shrugs like it’s no big deal. “Spent some time in solitary. No big deal. Just doing one of the bosses a favor that should get me set up for a minute.”
I breathe out harshly. I hate this, but at least he’s telling me. I’d hate it worse if he was trying to protect me from the reality of what wasactuallygoing on.
He knows I can handle the truth.
“Do you do okay in solitary?” I ask. “Like, are you taking care of your mental health? Do you have a self-care routine?”
I’ve read horror stories. I’ve started reading all I can about guys on the inside and how they can be supported. I always make sure he’s got money in his commissary and get him any special requests.
He looks at me deadpan. “I use it as a meditative retreat.”
I can’t tell if he’s serious or taking the piss. Pretty sure it’s the latter.
“Dad…”
“Daughter…” he says mockingly back, and I shake my head, knowing he won’t talk about it anymore.
So I move on to the second most painful topic I often can’t help bringing up when I visit.
“Have you heard from…him?”
Silas sits stone-faced, shaking his head. “You know I sent him a letter telling him it’s best if he stays away.”
I look down. I don’t understand Dad sometimes. Most times, clearly. He tried to “protect” me most of my life by keeping me at a distance, too.
“Why? I know things between him and me—” My eyes drop to my hands that twist anxiously in my lap.
“Ended bad,” I finish, “But things between the two of you were always good. I know you love him as if he was your own son.”
I finally muster the courage to look back up at him, only to see pain carved in his brow.
He swallows hard before answering, his Adam’s apple bobbing. “He’s a good boy. I always wanted the best for him. And the best ain’t having me in his life.”
I frown as he continues.